Rewriting History
by Night Nymph
Summary: Sad that her favorite book series was unfinished, Jamie decided to write her own ending. Since she was also babysitting for the anti-Christ, that turned out to be a really bad idea. Poor Castiel agrees. Now with - misuse of - pie! Longer summary inside.
1. What the Hell?

**Rewriting History**

**Summary:** Jamie wasn't happy that her favorite book series would never be finished, so she decided to write her own ending. Unfortunately for her, sharing the story writing with the kid Jesse she was babysitting for over the summer break probably wasn't such a good idea, but how was she supposed to know the kid was the antichrist? Castiel would agree that this was a terrible idea if only he knew what the hell was going on. Set between season 3 and 4 with characters borrowed from seasons 4 and 5. Warning: Somehow both Angsty and teetering on the edge of Crack!Fic.

**Author's notes:** A thank you to **leosmom** for reading this and letting me know it might not be so bad after all.

**Disclaimer:** _Supernatural_ and all of its characters are not mine. Especially not Sam and Dean. I hope the powers in charge there don't mind me playing with them a bit. Or subjecting them to Jamie, because she's entirely my fault.

**Chapter 1: What the Hell?**

This was taking much too long. They should have extracted him by now. Despite the difficulties and despite the fact that this was not their realm, they were angels with the power of heaven on their side. Theoretically they should be stronger than the demons. Much stronger. It just didn't make sense that they had failed so many times with at least one close call that could've spelled disaster. Something felt wrong about the situation. Castiel could feel it with all of his being, but it wasn't his place to question it. The leader of the garrison told him this was where he had to be, just in case, so this is where he was. Watching and waiting.

Sadly, in many ways, and one very important one in particular, it was already much too late. Only three days late, if one was going by mortal time, but that was a year too late in this realm. It was amazing that Dean Winchester had held out as long as he had. From the moments he had been able to see, Castiel wouldn't have blamed him for breaking much sooner. Sighing heavily, or whatever the angel equivalent of that would be, Castiel decided that something would have to be done to remedy the damage to Dean's psyche, or he would be of little use to them. And now, even more than ever, it was important that Dean be able to do what was needed.

Castiel could see the object of his mission again now, the glimpses almost frustrating in the way they taunted him. How it almost seemed that he could reach out and grasp Dean if he tried, and then he did try. Again. And once again his essence met resistance and was repelled. But still he could see. Watch as Dean again listened to the demon Alastair's taunts, almost seemed for a moment like he would resist, be defiant again, but then would catch himself and turn to the task of tormenting another damned soul. Castiel braced himself for the screams, because for some reason he could never turn away. It must be, he'd mused, almost like a human holding his breath, waiting for an impact, but much longer and more intense. Except this time nothing happened. That was because right before him, the vision still there, except now showing the damned soul's face lined with momentary relief and Alastair looking around in confusion, Dean Winchester had suddenly disappeared.

_A week earlier…_

Another long evening seemed to be in store, so Jamie was glad she'd brought her laptop computer. At least this meant she could write to pass the time if necessary. She found writing to be enjoyable, and she really didn't mind staying up. Especially since she was getting paid for it to boot.

It wasn't like she could sleep anyway even if she wanted to, because if she did, Jesse might get out of bed and do something to himself. She'd already learned that he was great at finding things to amuse himself that had the potential to lead to trouble, and he was a smart kid in many ways but naïve enough in others that he could get in some real trouble if she wasn't at least paying some sort of attention. And here he was again, getting out of bed. Jamie had great hearing, so Jesse's child-like attempts to sneak out of bed, accompanied by the usual child-like cluelessness as to exactly how much noise he was making weren't exactly escaping her notice. She sighed at first, but then couldn't help smiling. It was still summer after all. Jesse could always sleep in tomorrow, and his parents would likely appreciate that, since they would most likely come in late or even next-day early from their business meeting with work likely ahead again tomorrow.

Besides, Jamie liked Jesse. Despite having completed her first two semesters of college, the experience hadn't really been as she'd expected. It wasn't all fraternity and sorority parties and fitting in, and she didn't really feel that much more confident and mature. And no one really understood her and her strange tastes in books and entertainment, especially her fascination with the _Supernatural_ book series. But Jesse enjoyed the stories – kid edited of course for some things - and he had quite a vivid imagination. He enjoyed hearing her tell the stories as much as watching most things on television, and there actually wasn't all that much on during the summer which would interest a kid anyway. There must be a few stories she hadn't told him yet about the adventures of Sam and Dean. After a moment of silence, the floorboards creaked again. "Hey Jesse, you can come on out. I know you're up."

"But I was being so quiet," Jesse complained.

"I know. And if I'd had the TV on, I'm sure you would've snuck right by me. But now that it seems you're awake, how about a story?"

"A Sam and Dean story?" He looked hopeful. How could she resist that?

"Oh, alright," she teased. "Where did we leave off? Have I told you the one about the Mystery Spot in Florida yet?"

"What's a mystery spot?" He settled on the couch next to her and cuddled himself into the pillows, preparing to be there a while.

Jamie's face lit up. This was one of her favorite stories, full of humor and drama at the same time and just enough gore to interest a ten year old boy. She planned to tell it well, sparing no details. "Well, supposedly it's a place where the laws of physics have no meaning…"

It would be a long time before either of them even considered going to sleep.

oooooooooooooooooo

Castiel tried to contact his superiors, but no one was answering. The voices of his brothers and sisters instead were all jumbled and chaotic in his consciousness. That couldn't be good, because it meant that the most recent incursion wasn't going well. Though he'd have to abandon his post momentarily, Castiel decided he had to take the risk. There were no signs that the barrier separating him from Dean Winchester was weakening anyway, and he was likely needed elsewhere. His assessment turned out to be an understatement of large proportion. As he approached the current battle, the angel had never seen so many demons defending one area, and he couldn't quite fathom why, nor did he have the time to ponder it. Throwing himself into battle alongside his brothers and sisters, Castiel did what he could, knowing instinctively it wouldn't be enough.

The sound was deafening, and any damned souls in the vicinity covered their ears. Considering all the horrors they'd been through, that bore testament to how terrible this skirmish had become. Castiel couldn't think. He felt as if he would go insane. The stench of rendered demons and the cries of wounded angels surrounded him, and still more demons came. Could this be all to keep them from Dean Winchester? Could this many know of his importance?

Unheard in the midst of all the chaos had been a low rumbling, but as it continued to grow and as more demons arrived, there was now a physical shaking to accompany it. The vibration and noise grew, and it wasn't until the terrible crack and the loosening of a horrible stench of fire and brimstone that the angels had any idea what was happening.

Everything stopped for a moment. Demons and angels alike stared as an awful light shot from cracks in what looked like a huge stone cairn. Somehow it was both light and darkness at the same time, horrible and evil. Castiel curled in anguish at the feel of it, even though he wasn't that close. _Lucifer_, he thought. They should have known why there were so many demons here. They were drawn to him. The black, terrible light shot upwards now, heading out and away, incinerating both angels and demons alike in its path towards the surface. After a moment of confusion, Castiel heard the call, and the angels massed to stop the breaches as the battle once again raged on.

oooooooooooooooooo

As the angels worked on the crucial task of closing the cracks in Lucifer's prison, the dark light burst outwards onto the realm of earth above them, and the unworldly power caused the ground to explode in small craters in various locations throughout the plain states. One such incident went pretty much unnoticed, the black energy crashing through the ground in a secluded area a mile or so north of the small town of Alliance, Nebraska. Once on the surface, the dark light reformed into a thick foggy mass, as if hitting the air caused its energy to be snuffed out and only the smoky remains were left. But despite its appearance, the energy was still there. Curling upon itself, the fog reformed and moved en mass, as if it had a purpose. It slowly swirled forward through the nearby Carhenge monument. The thick mist momentarily clung to the painted gray skeletons of the piled cars as if the strange configuration of metal and rubber that formed the monument held some mystic power to attract it, but after a cursory examination, it moved forward again, slithering towards the town.

At first, tendrils of the fog branched out on their own, snaking out towards various buildings and homes of Alliance. They probed inside as if tasting, smelling, touching. One particular home soon attracted all of the attention, though, and the various fingers of smog reformed around that home, engulfing it like an amoeba before flowing inside. The boy inside the home slept soundly, unaware of the dark energy forming around him. He only moved fretfully for a moment as the black fog slipped inside as he drew a deep breath. When Jesse would wake later, he wouldn't even be aware of the power he now possessed.

oooooooooooooooooo

"And?" Jesse's mouth remained slightly open and he leaned forward, clutching the throw pillow with both hands.

"And… what?" Jamie asked slowly, but seeing Jesse's anticipation, she already regretted her lack of foresight. Of course the kid was going to want to know what happened next, but she'd been so caught up in telling the story, she hadn't considered what would happened when there was no more story to tell.

"Well, Sam's gotta get him out of hell, right? Dean just can't stay there. So what happens next?"

Jamie glanced at the clock on the wall, hoping somehow it would be late and give her an excuse to stall until next time. Maybe she could figure something out by then, distract him with another story, or maybe Jesse would just forget about it and move on to some other interest.

Jesse tracked her gaze, catching her eying the clock. He checked the time himself. "Oh, come on. I don't have to go to bed yet. It's still early." He turned imploring eyes back to her. "We have plenty of time for one more story. So, come on, what happens next?"

She sighed and decided she couldn't lie to him. "Jesse, there is no more. Carver Edlund didn't get to put out any more books."

"So when's the next one coming out? It'll be soon, right?"

Jamie thought that she probably should've lied, but she shook her head instead, knowing the kid would likely look on the internet anyway. She didn't want the kid to think she would lie to him. "There won't be any more books, Jesse. The publisher went bankrupt."

"But how are we gonna know what happened?" With his face full of concern and his mouth set in a frown, Jesse looked almost crushed. She had to do something. And then it came to her.

"We can write our own ending." Now that Jamie thought of it, the solution was so simple. She smiled broadly at the boy.

"We can?"

"Yeah. It's called fanfiction. We can even post it online if we want so other fans of the books could read it, too."

"That would be cool," Jesse said.

"It'll take a little work, because we'll have to make sure…"

"That's okay. Can we start now? At least with some ideas?"

Jamie glanced at the clock, now hoping that it gave her time rather than an out, because this could actually be fun. She could write a story with Jesse, let him give input, and then maybe edit it later if they had artistic differences. Good thing she'd brought her laptop again this week, because that would make things easier to brainstorm and edit. She nodded at Jesse. "Okay. Why not? Just let me get my laptop running and we'll get started."

"I'll dig up some snacks," Jesse suggested and headed off to the kitchen.

"Bring me a diet soda too, please?" Jamie asked as she dug out her laptop and plugged it in. She didn't want to worry about batteries running out at an inopportune time. Smiling, she propped the laptop on her lap and took the soda that Jesse handed her. "So where shall we start?"

"Well, I guess we have to describe it. Hell that is."

"Okay," Jamie said a little warily. How was this going to work without it getting too intense for a mostly still a kid like Jesse? She didn't want to seem to be babying him though, so she'd nudge instead. "Well, Dean is very intense and active. He likes doing things, experiencing stuff."

"Yeah, yeah, so for Dean, Hell would be like all dark and boring and stuff." He nodded, as if imagining it. Jamie made some notes on her computer. "But that's not enough," Jesse said, his face scrunched up in thought. "What else does Dean hate?" He sat up straighter as he had a thought. "Girly music."

"Right. That's good," Jamie said. "Like that song he got stuck in his head, because Jo played it on the juke box. The REO Speedwagon song."

"Oh yeah! What was that?"

Jamie thought for a moment. "I Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore. Here…" She put her notes in the bar down below, and opened her browser. Fortunately there was wireless, and it didn't take long for Jamie to find a YouTube video of the song in question. She played it for Jesse.

Jesse snickered. "Oh, that's awful. He'd hate that, and it would play over and over and over again. Now we have to add something that'll really creep him out."

"Okay," Jamie said, wracking her brain, because she had to think of something believable, but not too awful. Jesse was still a kid after all, and even if kids his age were often into horror movies and gore, that didn't mean that she should contribute to it. "Well, Dean's seen all sorts of monsters and ghosts and such, so that wouldn't be very original, so what would be something that would creep Dean out and still be creative?" Then it came to her. Jamie sucked in a small breath and smiled. "I know. Remember early on in the stories, there was one creature that really creeped Dean out and that he'd always wanted to hunt…"

oooooooooooooooooo

Dean's blade came down on nothing, and just as he was registering that turn of events, he noticed the dark. And that everything was gone. No rack, no damned soul, no Alistair. Nothing. He panicked and lifted his head. "Wait! No! I only hesitated a moment." He spun around, trying to make out anything in the darkness. "I just wanted to look at the blade. Make sure it was sharp." No one answered. "Alastair? Alastair? Alastair!"

Putting a hand out in front of him, Dean groped his way through the dark until he found a stone wall. He could barely make it out even though the wall was right in front of him. He sat down against it to think and wait for his eyes to adjust. Things didn't get much better. The only light seemed to be from some scant torches way, way up on the stone wall; a stone wall that kept going up and up beyond those torches and appeared to surround him in a circular pattern. It reminded Dean of some ancient castle tower. Periodically, for what seemed hours, he would shout out to Alistair and finally to anyone or anything who might be listening. No response. Just him, alone, with his memories. Dean didn't want to be alone with his memories and thought he might go crazy. Again. Or maybe more crazy. He wasn't sure any more. He just knew that he couldn't stay here alone with his thoughts. Unfortunately, that seemed to be exactly what they had in store for him right now.

After what seemed a long, long time there was sound, thankfully snapping him out of his memories. The sound was familiar somehow, but a long ago familiar. Plaintive music was playing and then a voice singing "I can't fight this feeling any longer, but I'm too afraid to let it show…" He knew this, but couldn't quite remember how he knew it or when. It bugged him as he tried to figure out where he knew it from. After Dean heard it again and again and again, however, he more wondered why he'd known this song, because this was pretty awful. And now he just wanted it to stop. He knew it shouldn't be that bad, because he'd been through some horrific things in his time here in the pit, but for some reason this was still awful and there were feelings associated with it that he couldn't place which made it even worse than the awful it already was.

And just when Dean thought he'd start banging his head against the wall to make it stop, at least for a little while, he heard another sound. An insanely happy little laugh, or maybe it was more like a giggle. It was soft, but somehow Dean didn't find that comforting. He knew this too, but again the memory seemed long gone until his vision focused in the gloom and he saw what was making the sound: A giant, light-colored, fluffy bear thing. And it was so happy. Then it outstretched its arms and wobbled towards him, obviously intending to hug him. Even worse, it talked. "Hey, Dean. I've come to make your clothes all soft and snuggly and morningtime fresh."

"Okay, that's not freakin' possible," Dean complained as recognition dawned on his face. "But at least now I get to finally kill the son of a bitch. Oh, knife, knife…" He scrabbled around in the dark until he found where he'd laid the blade down and whipped it in front of himself as Snuggles, the giant Snuggle bear, got closer, still giggling and still intent on getting his hug.

To be continued

**AN:** Sam makes his appearance in the next installment, so you all know what that means… bring on the angst and emo stuff. I have faith you all can handle it.


	2. No, Seriously, What the Hell?

**Author's notes:** This one's for **liliaeth** and **Library Bum. **Thank you for your reviews and letting me know you wanted more. Here ya go. As Dean would say: I hope it was worth the freakin' wait.

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine. Except for Jamie, and not sure I should want to claim her. She is so very troublesome for our boys and angel.

**Chapter 2: No, Seriously, What the Hell?**

Dean was suffocating slowly. What little air he could manage to gasp into his non-existent yet somehow there lungs carried the taint of a sickly floral smell that made breathing almost as bad as not. It always amazed him that the sensation for needing air applied even here, where he supposedly didn't even have a physical body. It might as well be a physical body though. The pain and needs were the same and sometimes enhanced. The pressure on him increased and his struggles increased in response, the need for air getting critical now. Not that breaking free and getting to breathe would bring relief for long, Dean knew, because somewhere along the way, Snuggle Bear had grown fangs. And he'd learned how to use them. Dean still had his knife though, and even though it was no longer any fun to try and rip the bear apart, especially since the damn stuffed animal could now bite back, that still meant he could fight back. And that was at least better than before when he'd been tied to the rack and helpless.

With renewed effort, he made some progress, managing to shove the bear just enough to move a few more precious inches towards the surface of the giant, fluffy laundry pile, before the bear was back pressing on him, saying something about feeling the snuggly softness with that irritatingly happy voice. How did it still sound so cheery with a mouthful of fangs?

Dean had a plan though. If he worked on it, he could use his knife to make some grooves in the stone somehow during breaks in the attacks and find a way to climb out of the bear's reach. It would take a while, but he could do it. Bolstered by that thought, he gave one final push and burst out of the pile of laundry. The infuriating bear only exclaimed with glee, "Oh there you are, Dean." He opened his arms wide. "Come here, because we're so soft, and cuddly and..."

"Hee, everyone loves to snuggle!"

Dean's head whipped around, the growled retort of "no everyone does _not_ like to snuggle" dying on his lips. His chest suddenly felt very tight. "Son of a bitch!" Now there were two of them.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Jesse looked at the computer screen in horror. "What did they do to it? I mean it was creepy before, but at least it was sorta cute."

"I know. That new Snuggle bear is just like a pod version of Snuggles or something," Jamie agreed.

"More like an evil, zombie Disney version of Snuggles," Jesse said.

Jamie smiled and snorted. "You win. Okay, now that we're done with describing Dean's hell, how are we going to have Sam get him out? I mean, he's human, so he can't just march down into Hell."

Jesse scrunched up his face. "True, but if he was dead, he might end up someplace different in Hell than Dean. His Hell would be different…"

"And he might not have his special powers anymore. Ruby said he still had his 'not-God-given' powers, he just had to learn to use them."

"Oh, good point. He got them from the demon blood Azazel gave him as a baby, so if he was dead, he wouldn't really have his body, so he wouldn't have the demon blood, so no powers."

"And if he made a deal to get Dean out…"

"Which he would do, even though Dean told him not to…"

"True," Jamie agreed, "but again he'd be dead, because the hellhounds would get him. Which might save Dean, but that would be a pretty short story, because then Sam would be in Hell instead."

They were both quiet a moment as they thought about it. Jamie searched for inspiration on her computer, but her search for "legends visits to Hell" mostly got her some Hindu myths, gods visiting Hell or the underworld, and some stuff with John Legend. Why'd he have to go and have an album with "Hell" in the title? She did find an interesting site called Hell-On-Line with descriptions from Judeo-Christian texts and a posting about there being seven gates which supposedly lead to Hell in York, Pennsylvania and another about an urban legend of a supposed gate to Hell in Stull Cemetery in Kansas which she bookmarked for later information. Nothing really helpful for what she was looking for though, and that was a legend or myth about how a human person could somehow visit Hell and survive.

"Not really finding anything, are you?" Jesse asked. Jamie shook her head in response. Jesse sighed. "That's 'cuz there's only one thing that can be down in Hell besides a doomed soul." He looked at her with resignation. "Sam's gonna have to be at least part demon isn't he?"

Jamie thought it over, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. I think you're right. No other way. Well, unless he was somehow immortal."

"Like that doctor guy who stole new body parts? Sam could always dig him up and get the secret." Jesse sounded both disgusted and intrigued by the idea.

"Oh, ick. But that would be impractical, because he couldn't find replacement parts in Hell." Thank goodness, she thought to herself, because ew, ew, ew. She'd rather Sam be part demon than that. Better not let Jesse think more on that idea in case he warmed up to it, so she'd slightly expand on the demon idea as a distraction. "Okay, so now we'll have to think about how Sam can become part demon, and also how he can get his powers back."

"He'll have to find something to bring back the powers he had. Ruby did say Sam could kill Lilith with his mind. But how?"

"Well his powers must've come from the blood that Azazel gave him, like Ruby hinted at, and now that Azazel is dead maybe they are weakened."

"So we'll find a way to enhance them. Magnify the demon blood he does have!"

"Ooh, that's a great idea. I'll see if I can find a legendary something that enhances stuff like that." Then Jamie shrugged. "Or we'll just make something up. That's the beauty of fanfiction."

"Oh, I have an idea. It's kind of out there, but at least it'll give a use for the thing…"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A pale sliver of light streamed through the gap in the shabby blackout curtains, but Sam had no idea if that meant that it was the dawn or the waning afternoon light that was shining in his eyes. Shifting from his back to his side, he tried to get comfortable, but it was useless. His pounding headache prevented him from any hope of returning to his previous slumber. He groped for the bottle of Tylenol. The movement made him grunt in pain, but he was determined. Like winning a little prize, he finally found the plastic bottle nestled amongst the empty and mostly empty liquor bottles. With clumsy hands, he popped the top, thankfully not childproof, and extracted a few of the pills. He was relieved to find that they were the coated kind, because he doubted he'd be lucky enough to find a bottle of water amongst the assemblage grouped on the decrepit nightstand. He tried swallowing the pills, but his mouth was too dry for the attempt, so he reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom.

Sam held on to the sink as he ran the water, waiting for it to cool. Reluctantly, he looked at himself in the mirror, but could only stand to do so for a moment before gulping a handful of water and lurching away. The motion made him groan. A long time ago now it seemed, this kind of headache would've meant that he'd had a vision, that there was someone that maybe needed saving, and a job to accomplish. It had been almost a noble thing then, worth the pain. Now it was the price he paid to get any sleep, and when he was lucky, like last night, he didn't dream. Sam supposed that too was worth the pain, just in no way noble.

Sam turned the clock face towards him and was glad to see that it was early and not late as he'd feared. Of course that just showed how little sleep he'd been getting lately if what he got last night made him feel in any way rested. He knew he should take advantage and sleep some more, but he had a feeling that Ruby would be coming to see him soon, and not going back to sleep gave him time before she'd arrive. She was pressuring him again, wanting him to drink more demon blood again, and he was trying to resist that. He had hoped his powers would progress without it, but the going was slow, and he really did want to get better with his powers. He'd never be able to take on Lilith otherwise.

Sighing, he tried to focus, summoning the power as if he had a demon to exercise. The effort made his head hurt even more, the stabbing pain distracting him and making him lose focus. With an exclamation of frustration, he stopped his efforts. He rubbed his fingertips over his forehead as if that could will the pain away, but he knew he'd just have to wait the next half hour out, when he hoped the Tylenol would kick in.

Meanwhile he dug out his laptop and plugged it in. As it warmed up, Sam got a glass of water from the battered sink and drank it quickly, knowing that this would also help his head at least some. He took deep breaths to focus. Research again. He had to check for signs, and he had to keep checking to see if there was any other way to get his powers stronger. That was never easy, because he couldn't exactly search "ways to enhance demon blood power" on Google. But Sam tried anyway, because he really wished he could have an argument for Ruby, some other way, because as good as it felt to have that demon blood and its power, it also felt wrong. Wrong in that he could feel the blood inside him, like an entity in his body, making him feel like a monster was slithering through his veins. Making him feel evil and like a freak.

And in some ways Sam, still after everything, resisted his destiny to be a freak. Because that's what Sam did. He always resisted, questioned, railed against the world as if he had to, because if he didn't, then somehow he would no longer be Sam Winchester. Sometimes he wished he could just stop and do without asking why, believe without question. It would be so much less exhausting. But that wouldn't be any time soon, and it certainly wouldn't be today. Today he sat at the computer and tried again, because just maybe, today he'd find something.

Two hours later Sam stared at the computer in shock. "What the hell?" His heart pounded in his chest, because he was almost too scared to believe, but once his hand curled under Dean's amulet and he brought it in front of him to be sure, there was no mistake. All this time, and he'd had no idea that the "something special" the amulet Bobby had given him for his Dad and that had hung on Dean's neck instead for so many years was actually something amazing. The amulet was somehow tied to a statue of a Celtic hero named Cuchulain or maybe from the rock against which he died, the mythos wasn't clear, though the second theory, despite being more poetic, seemed less likely given that the amulet wasn't made of rock. This Cuchulain, originally named Setanta and son of a royal woman and a god, transformed himself into a powerful, unbeatable monster as he went into battle. The information, already unbelievable, suggested that the amulet would, with some activation, enhance the power he already had. And it might even do more than that. A lot more. For the first time in months, Sam had something he barely recognized anymore. He had hope.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Castiel was losing hope, and that was tantamount to losing faith. But that couldn't be, because if he was anything, Castiel knew himself to be faithful. It had been days now above and countless weeks below, however, and Castiel still hadn't found Dean Winchester. It wasn't for lack of effort, because he'd been searching tirelessly since the first moment Dean had disappeared. Still he was no closer to finding him, and for the first time in an eternity, the angel was feeling doubt and was slowly losing faith.

He would try one more search, and then he feared he would have to do something unorthodox. He wasn't just supposed to drop in on prophets unannounced and ask to see what was going to happen next, but the bad feeling the angel had had recently assured him that something was wrong, and he should find out for sure. He could always make the prophet forget later if he needed to do so. Right now he needed answers. Good idea, Castiel decided. Abandoning his original plan for one more search, he set off instead to visit the prophet Chuck.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"So since Cuchulain's powers not only magnified when he went into battle, but he physically turned into a warrior monster, the amulet invoking his power could do both too. It could not only enhance Sam's powers, but since his powers came from demon blood, maybe the amulet could turn him partially into a demon. Kill two birds with one stone," Jamie reasoned.

"That would be a pretty powerful amulet," Jesse said dubiously.

"True. I think in order for it to be at all believable in this 'verse, it'll have to require something dark to invoke."

"But are we ready to go there? Make Sam do something bad?"

Jamie considered carefully, but despite how Sam started out, after the events later on, the groundwork had been set. "I think the path was begun with the Mystery Spot story. It hinted that Sam was ready to sacrifice someone maybe in order to get the blood he needed. That maybe it didn't matter if he wasn't entirely certain it was the Trickster setting him up, he was going to do it anyway, if he meant he might be able to get Dean back. And then the creepy doctor..."

"Yeah, Sam was considering making both he and Dean unkillable that way. What if they got hurt, like if hellhounds came after them, and they needed new parts?" Jesse's eyes got wide, no doubt imagining part harvesting and Frankenstein's monster like scenarios.

"Oh wow. I hadn't even thought of that. That would've been totally awful and creepy and also completely, morally wrong."

Jesse nodded. "Yeah, Sam's desperate enough to go darkside." His expression turned to resolve, and Jamie thought the kid looked completely adorable as he raised his chin and declared. "Let's do it."

Jamie nodded as well, smiling at him. "Yeah. That's where the story wants to go. Sam's got the motivation. The amulet will give him the means. Now we just have to give him a method to invoke the amulet and a gate to Hell. I don't have an idea for the ritual yet. Likely we can just go for straightforward rather than try to get too fancy."

"Like a sacrifice," Jesse agreed, shrugging. "That seems to work for a lot of things in these stories."

"True. We can likely go with that. It could be like the Trickster's fake ritual in 'Mystery Spot' was somehow foreshadowing. I like it. Now, I have two interesting options for the gate." She hit some keystrokes to call up her bookmarked sites and she turned her computer towards Jesse. "The first here is in Kansas, which has a kind of symmetry…"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"But it's not time yet," Ruby told him.

Sam looked at her with irritation. "I'm not going to wait any longer than I have to. Here's a way to make myself stronger. If I can already exorcise demons with my mind now, this should allow me to kill them. Didn't you say back in Indiana that I could kill Lilith easily? I just wasn't ready?"

"Yes," Ruby said slowly. "But I misjudged how much work it would actually take."

"No more work needed. And I don't need any more blood. This should increase the power of the blood I already have exponentially."

"A little blood would help though…"

"True," Sam said, abruptly changing his mind. "And we'll likely have some extra anyway."

"What do you mean?" Ruby asked.

"Invoking the amulet is going to require a sacrifice."

Ruby didn't like the way Sam had said that. Like there was something he wasn't including. "What kind of sacrifice?"

"A blood sacrifice." Sam rubbed his hand distractedly over his forehead. "Enough blood from one person that it will mean they won't survive." His voice shook a little and he cleared his throat as he brought his hand down. "I'm thinking a demon will suffice, but that means the host…"

"Will die too," Ruby finished for him. "And I assume it has to be a living sacrifice?"

Sam averted his gaze. "Yeah. The body can't be dead already."

"You can't do that Sam."

He looked up sharply, shaking his head slightly as if clearing it. "I have to. I can't let Dean stay in hell…"

"Wait a minute," Ruby said, her voice rising a little in panic. "What does this have to do with Dean? I thought you were getting your powers stronger to take out Lilith?" When Sam didn't say anything, Ruby grabbed his arms and shook him a little. "Sam?"

Sam knocked her hands away. "Enhancing the demon blood isn't just going to make me stronger, Ruby."

She saw something in his eyes then; an anxiety that communicated a new fear of an unknown that went beyond his usual concerns of drinking blood and using his powers. It could only mean he'd found out what the demon blood would ultimately do. She could try to deflect it, but it would ultimately be pointless. "It's going to change you," she said instead. _Shit_ she thought. _This wasn't supposed to happen yet. _Yes, she ultimately wanted Sam to be ready, to change, but it wasn't time yet, and he had to kill Lilith to break the seal or changing wouldn't matter_. _"That's okay, Sam," she encouraged. "We can still use that to get Lilith…"

"No, I'm not going to stay here, and be… a demon."

"I'm here. I'm a demon."

"That's you," Sam said. "The only reason I would do this is so that I can go _there_. It wasn't originally what I was looking for. I just wanted a way to enhance my powers without any more blood, but then when I found out what this amulet would do when that happened, that it would transform me into what the power was made of, that could only mean…"

"A demon," Ruby finished for him.

"Right. So I was going to forget the whole thing until I realized that if I can become a demon or maybe part demon since I'll still have this body, and I can kill demons, then maybe…"

"Maybe what, Sam? This is insane!" And it was. Ruby couldn't believe she was even having this conversation with Sam. "And how do you even know that's what's going to happen when you invoke that thing?"

"I'm pretty sure," Sam said.

"And so then what? You march into Hell? That's not possible!"

Sam's face twisted in anger. "As long as I'm enough demon that I won't die down there and I can defend myself…"

"How do you know you'll be able to kill demons? It's not like they'll be possessing bodies down there."

"I'll make sure." He sounded resolved.

Ruby felt more than a twinge of worry, not sure how she could persuade him not to do this when he was obviously so determined. "What about Lilith? Don't you want your revenge?"

"Yes," Sam answered slowly. "Maybe if I get back."

"That's not likely," Ruby said with some venom. "And what happens then? You leave everyone here with Lilith running around doing God knows what? What about the people we're trying to save by exorcising demons? Are you going to abandon them too?"

"If it means saving Dean? Then yes."

And Sam said it with such finality, that Ruby felt her borrowed breath catch. How was she going to talk him out of this? He couldn't do this. It would ruin everything. "Sam you can't," she almost pleaded.

He turned blazing eyes on her, his gaze staring straight into hers without a flicker of doubt. "Yes, I will, and if you aren't going to help me, then…" Sam didn't finish. He didn't have to. Ruby knew.

To Be Continued

**AN:** Next up: Castiel attempts to speak with Chuck. You can probably guess how well that goes. And Sam continues to formulate his plan. It ain't gonna be pretty. Poor Dean just wishes those damn Snuggle Bears would rot in… oh wait, never mind.


	3. Communication Breakdown

**Author's notes:** Thanks to **Suededonymn** for the lovely review, and to** liliaeth** for sticking with this fic. I appreciate loyal readers and anyone who's made it this far with me.

Chuck in this fic will be Chuck the Prophet only. I'll assume that in the finale his work was done and he was taken into heaven like other profits before him as has been proposed by some fans on various discussion boards. I'll interpret that his change of clothes was because Chuck knew, and he didn't want to be crummily dressed for all eternity.

I apologize for the delay. To make it up to you, here's an extra long chapter.

**Chapter 3: Communication Breakdown**

Dean had passed annoyed a long, long time ago and was now on his way to pissed off and taking names. The two Snuggle bears were talking again, though Dean was certain that their words had to be some sort of code. Like when they said "doesn't this new improved version smell even more springtime fresh," it really meant "you take one leg and I'll take the other and we'll snap him like a wishbone," because really everyone knows the "new and improved" version is never as good as the original version, so Dean didn't believe the lying sons of bitches for a moment. Besides it wasn't like they hadn't played wishbone with him once or twice in the last few weeks. Dean just couldn't remember what they'd said beforehand, since after the incidents… well he pretty much just remembered the results.

Especially in light of how seldom he got a break from the bears recently, Dean knew he should be enjoying the reprieve and taking an opportunity to rest, but he couldn't. His brain just wouldn't shut off. Looking down at one of the now ever-present piles of laundry, he decided instead to do something constructive. He'd abandoned his plan to create hand holds in the rock wall a long while back, because the rock not only turned out to be harder than he anticipated, it threatened to destroy his knife whenever he tried to make a groove. Considering that the knife was his only weapon, that plan was out almost before it started.

What he did have in abundance though was laundry. Not much of a weapon, but it could be the raw material to make a strong rope if he worked it correctly, and now that he'd had some actual time to think, he'd been able to let himself strategize. If he had time enough to make a rope, he could then throw that rope – with some sort of weight at the end and a bit of effort, because it was a ways up – over one of the iron torch holders up on the wall. He could then make a slip knot and use the rope to climb up and escape the bears for a while. With some more creative thinking, maybe he could devise some kind of fabric chair or hammock so he could sleep up there.

Dean smiled to himself and started looking through the laundry piles for the best candidates for his plan. Meanwhile he kept close tabs on the bears. And he so hoped that "feel the improved softness" didn't really mean "let's have Dean's innards for lunch." Blood and guts would definitely not improve his fabric raw materials.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

This wasn't going like Castiel had anticipated. Chuck was a prophet. He received the word of the Lord. Why then were Castiel's words not being received? Even now the man was curled on the floor covering his ears and yelling like he didn't understand at all and in fact found the words something akin to painful. Castiel at first wondered if he should try to speak louder, but then realized that Chuck must be able to hear him or why would he be covering his ears? The attempts to communicate were already causing some minor damage. If he spoke more loudly, the structure itself might become unsound. Belatedly it dawned on the angel that perhaps Chuck couldn't understand him. This was unexpected and a little inconvenient, but Castiel guessed he was going to have to do it the hard way. Human verbal communication was so imprecise and awkward. Castiel wasn't looking forward to it. Good thing he had already acquired his vessel for his extended stay earthbound. Sighing, he materialized inside the room nearby Chuck, his appearance causing a nearby light bulb, which had previously somehow remained in tact, to burst and spark.

Apparently his chosen vessel's physical form wasn't particularly reassuring either, because Chuck made a strange sound and scrabbled away from him, positioning himself behind the far side of his desk. Frowning, Castiel watched a metal object – was that a stapler? – fly through the air a moment later and bounce off the side of his head. Castiel lowered his eyebrows and glowered. That hurt a little, or perhaps it was just annoying. Either way, maybe next time he wouldn't let something hit him in the head. "This is not necessary. I am not going to hurt you," he said, hoping that this would reassure the man and make him come out from behind the desk. It seemed to have neither affect.

"Really? Because you could've fooled me with all the breaking glass and and... the shaking." Chuck sounded as if he was having difficulties choosing the right words to express himself. The angel knew the feeling. Humans had so many words.

Castiel tilted his head. "I was only trying to communicate. I mistakenly thought you could understand me."

"Why? Why would you think that? And you're obviously real and not a hallucination, cuz I saw that stapler hit you. So who the hell are you?"

"I am an angel of the Lord," he answered as if it were obvious.

"Oh, of course you are," Chuck agreed, but Castiel didn't believe him, because something else came flying in his direction. Castiel stopped the paperweight in mid air, then let it drop to the floor.

"Hurling objects will not harm me. It is also annoying." Castiel shifted uncomfortably and straightened his posture even more. "Come out now. I have some questions I need answered."

"Look, this is my home. I don't know how you're doing all of this…" He gestured vaguely but emphatically at his damaged home "…But I'm willing to forget it and not press charges if you leave now. Otherwise I'm calling the police."

Castiel looked a little confused. "I doubt that the police will be able to answer my questions." He deflected the letter opener that came at him next and watched it thunk into a wall, the blade quivering slightly from the impact. He then heard the sounds of beeping and figured that Chuck was "calling the police." Castiel made sure that any communication would be reduced to static. A defeated sound came from behind the desk.

"You aren't going to leave are you?"

"No." Castiel was drawn to a bookshelf where he picked up a copy of one of the _Supernatural_ books. He turned it over. Oh _Home_. He particularly liked that one. The Winchesters had saved a young woman and her children in that installment. He quietly thumbed through it, waiting.

Chuck slowly peeked out from behind the desk and stood up, though his posture was still wary. "What could you possibly want to talk with me about?"

Castiel held up the book. "The gospels. Are you still receiving the visions?"

Chuck's mouth dropped open. "The vis… H-how did you know about that?"

"I told you. I am an angel of the Lord. We are made aware of all of God's prophets."

"Prophets? What are you talking about? I'm just a fiction writer. I…"

"The visions are real. Portents of what is to come," Castiel interrupted. "And I may not have time to explain to you all the details. Just know that I must know of your latest visions. Dean Winchester is missing…"

"How do you know…"

Castiel sighed. "I explained that already. Just believe me and show me the latest gospels. Now… please," he added when Chuck hesitated, hoping the "please" would add the necessary politeness to persuade him. Instead the prophet stayed motionless for a while, before finally opening his mouth again.

"You're an angel?"

"Yes." Castiel answered patiently.

Chuck's brow furrowed. "Is your name Castiel?"

Castiel's mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Yes. Have you seen me? In your visions?"

Chuck ran his hands over his face and through his hair, tugging the strands a little at the end of the gesture. "Okay, well. Dean is missing, because he's in Hell, but you should know that because…" he began, and then he abruptly laughed as if he were losing his sanity. His widened eyes skimmed the desk, and then he moved away some junk mail to uncover some typed pages. Hands shaking, Chuck held out the pages.

"No, Dean isn't in Hell," Castiel said with a frown as he took the pages from Chuck's hands. "Dean disappeared several days ago. I saw it happen."

"Wait. What? The last I saw was…"

Castiel held up a hand to stop him. "I think you better show me everything you have from the last few months. And tell me anything you haven't yet written. It is imperative that I find Dean Winchester. The fate of the world may depend on it."

Chuck stumbled and almost missed the nearest chair as he sat down. Letting out a rush of air, he grabbed a bottle off the floor nearby. "I think I need a drink."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sam closed his eyes and let his breath out slowly through his parted lips, but when he opened them again, nothing had changed. All the information and all of the signs still pointed to the same place. And Sam wished it had been almost anywhere else.

At first, it had appeared that his portal was going to be in Stull Cemetery, a place near Lawrence, Kansas that their father had dismissed many times as unfounded rumors and nonsense. And considering how their family had started out in Lawrence, and the demon had killed their mother there, Sam was confident that his Dad would've known if anything really had been amiss there. Nonetheless, there had been signs recently, but the lead dried up almost as soon as it had begun.

Next there had been York, Pennsylvania, and Sam knew that legend well. He also knew that the supposed seven gates to hell there were on private property and that the local police were extremely diligent about trespassers. He would never have been able to get the supplies he needed to open up a portal to hell onto that location, including at least a couple of bound and subdued demons, so he wasn't too disappointed when that lead also dried up.

The devil's gate they'd opened in Wyoming hadn't showed any signs, and last time Sam had tried to open it, it hadn't worked at all. He was pretty sure after that episode that he needed the long missing Colt for that one, and ritual or no, that location had looked unlikely. No, instead all of the signs and information he was finding now were pointing to one place Sam knew he didn't want to go, though now that he considered it, it did have some kind of poetic symmetry. He had died there once after all, so he supposed his humanity dying there now only made a twisted kind of sense. It looked like Sam was going back to Cold Oak, South Dakota.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"So you really think Cold Oak would be better?" Jamie asked.

Jesse nodded. "Yeah. Lots of creepy abandoned buildings. No one there, so no need to have Sam sneak through someone's property and describe all that. Besides Stull Cemetery sounds kind of boring, and even though the seven gates to hell in Pennsylvania did sound cool and all, wouldn't we kind of have to describe 'em all as Sam negotiated them? 'Cuz skipping forward would be like a lame copout."

"Hmm. Good point actually. It would be kind of lame if we just lumped them together like 'Sam barely made it through the second, third, and fourth gates,' but describing them all would both be long and eventually repetitive for the readers."

"Exactly," Jesse agreed. "And most of the readers will already know about Cold Oak, so we don't have to get so detailed and can get down to the good stuff instead."

"You know, kid, you're really good at this," Jamie said, ruffling the kid's hair.

Jesse feigned annoyance by moving out from under her hand, but he had a smile of pride on his face. "Okay, what's next?"

"Decide how the gate to hell can be opened."

"Oh yeah. Let's not get too complicated."

"I agree. Simple is probably best."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"And that was just yesterday," Chuck concluded. "I didn't see anything that would suggest that Dean wasn't still with Alastair, and that you hadn't been still keeping watch."

"It sounds like you saw the huge battle we had with the demons pretty close to when that actually happened though," Castiel said with a frown. "So why didn't you see Dean Winchester disappear?"

"Look, I don't know. I'm still trying to digest this whole my-visions-are-actually-real thing here." He sighed. "You can't just go find him?"

"I searched for Dean Winchester, but apparently you didn't see that either."

"Well, is it just Dean who's missing? What about Sam?"

Castiel tilted his head. "You know that's a good idea. I should go see if Sam Winchester is still here as well. What was it that you said your last visions of Sam showed?"

Chuck shook his head. "Nothing much. He was following some leads that were taking him up through the Midwest." He rubbed a hand over his forehead. "Um, I think he was in southern Indiana somewhere, last I saw."

"Okay," Castiel said, and with only that for warning, he disappeared.

"What the…" Chuck began. He took another large swallow from his bottle, hoping that he could drink himself to sleep and wake up to realize this whole incident had been his imagination or just some aberrant blip he could try to forget. And if either of those was the case, this incident definitely was not going into his book.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Grabbing a couple of demons was even easier than Sam had anticipated. He'd convinced Ruby to scout some out and give him the location, and then after promising to wait until she returned and use the time she was gone to rest up for the event, he'd gone ahead on his own and nabbed the two demons. It had just been luck that Ruby'd had other business to attend to, and Sam had taken advantage of that. Despite going along with his preparations, she still kept trying to convince him to abandon his plans, and Sam could no longer afford her distractions. His nerves were frayed enough already.

Those demons were currently bound and stuffed in the trunk of the Impala beneath a crude devil's trap with their mouths duct taped to prevent them from escaping their human hosts. As an added benefit, the tape also prevented them from screaming. Not that Sam was doing much stopping during his drive to Cold Oak where he'd have to worry about the demons attracting unwanted attention if they had made noise. Even his one rest stop, taken only out of sheer exhaustion after he'd almost fallen asleep at the wheel, had been in a field near the side of a rural road, the Impala parked nearby beneath a tree to keep the waning sun off the trunk. He hadn't wanted the human hosts to be too uncomfortable in the heat while he rested. Sam knew his concern about the hosts getting too heated had been somewhat hypocritical considering what he intended to do to one or both of them, but still he was sure it was already crowded in the trunk. There'd been no need to make it unbearably hot as well.

Thankfully, despite it being summer, the weather in South Dakota was cooperating. The heat that had been his companion through most of his Midwestern travels hadn't reached here. Currently rain was pattering on the roof, not only cooling the car, but partly muffling the sounds of the demons' now less frequent struggles. He turned up his music to finish the job and drove on through the rainy night.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Sam wasn't in southern Indiana," Castiel informed Chuck immediately after appearing in the room.

Chuck's response to Castiel's news was to startle and let out a strangled yell. Then he moved a bit back from the angel before rubbing a hand over his forehead and groaning. "Oh God, it wasn't a dream after all. You're back."

Castiel tilted his head slightly in confusion. "Of course I have returned. We still have more things to consider. It seems things are worse than I imagined."

"How could they be worse?"

"Not only was Sam not in Indiana, but I believe he is contemplating something even worse than you described."

"Worse than teaming up with a demon and drinking her blood to power up?" Chuck asked.

"When I found him he was taking a rest in a field," Castiel explained. "In his car were a lot of supplies that looked to be for some very dark purposes. And he had two demons bound and gagged in the trunk."

"An exorcism requires some dark looking stuff," Chuck suggested hopefully. "And Sam might be planning to do some, um… information gathering from the demons first."

"Information gathering?"

"Interrogation. He's done it in the past. Trying to find Lilith."

Castiel furrowed his brow. "I suppose, but why would he be driving the demons far away somewhere to interrogate them? I followed him for quite a while before he stopped, and by then he was all the way in South Dakota…"

"Wait a minute," Chuck said, putting up a hand. "Wait. I know this. Why does this sound familiar?" He pounded his fisted hand lightly against his bowed forehead. "Think. I read this somewhere. Sam going to South Dakota with demons to do a ritual." His head snapped up and he looked at Castiel with wide eyes. "No it can't be."

"What?"

"It was a fanfiction," he said.

"What is a fanfiction?" Castiel asked, his lip slightly wrinkled as if he anticipated that getting an answer would not be something he might actually want.

Chuck waved his hands around as he went to his computer. "You don't want to know details. Trust me." Upon seeing Castiel's open expression though, he decided to try. He sighed. "Think of it as… like hymns. People read my books…"

"The gospels," Castiel added nodding.

Chuck closed his eyes momentarily and shuddered a bit but decided not to contradict the angel. "People read them and are inspired to write their own stories based on the characters and such, and then they share them with other people… like a hymn." He added the last when he saw that the angel still looked confused, and it seemed to cause a reaction.

Castiel smiled ever so slightly. "That's lovely."

Chuck huffed a small laugh as he sat at his now waking computer and started typing as soon as it was ready. "Not really. Most of these stories aren't as poetic as hymns, and they aren't sacred. And there isn't any music. And they are shared online rather than in a church. I used hymns as an example, because they are inspired by the Bible and you would know what hymns are, but these are…not like that."

"Shouldn't anything inspired by the Winchester gospels be in turn inspirational?"

"Well they are creative," Chuck said, "and some are quite good. But trust me when I say that some of them are not things an angel should be reading." He sighed. "Unfortunately, there are more than one might imagine, and I can't remember where I read this one. Only that it was recent. And I don't know why I'm looking anyway, because this can only be a coincidence that I read something like that…"

Castiel looked contemplative. "There is a slim chance that it may just be coincidence, but I am thinking there is a reason you remembered it, and that the reason is not coincidence."

"Yeah, that's the part that kind of scares me." He was still clicking as Castiel came to look over his shoulder at the screen. He turned his face a little sideways to address the angel, unable to turn all the way, because Castiel was right there. "Are there others like me?"

"Other prophets?" Castiel asked. Chuck nodded, his gaze back on the screen. "Yes, but not now, and not writing the Winchester gospels."

"Oh, oh, here it is." Chuck brought up the story onto his screen. "To Mend a Broken Promise" by The Outlaw Jesse Jamie. That's actually kind of amusing." Castiel frowned in confusion, so Chuck felt compelled to explain. "Jesse James was a famous American outlaw, so it's sort of a take off on that name, and… it appears to be a collaboration effort so it used their two names. Usually the one author posts as Winchester Alliance. That sounds slightly familiar…" He was perusing the story as he spoke. "Oh and there's a new chapter it looks like, and oh, this can't be good…"

"What?" Castiel asked.

"We better hope that this is only coincidence, because otherwise… this is so, so bad."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_The screaming was like music and the blood like a work of art. He focused and carved more carefully now, not carelessly like when he'd started. Looking to Allastair, he gauged the demon's reaction. Allastair seemed pleased with his progress, so he continued in the same vein. A little more creativity could always come later. Right now this was all he needed: having Allastair's approval and having his arms and legs free to create his work. He had to, after all, because he didn't want to go back to the time before where there was nothing but pain and helplessness. He put on a smile, knowing it was more effective that way and brought the knife down again, watching the blood trickle down in a graceful line along the flesh and drip to the floor below…_

Dean woke with a start and breathed heavily. After a lot of effort, his plan to escape the Snuggle bears had worked. He had tied himself in securely up on the wall using the laundry from the piles. What he hadn't anticipated, but should have, was that he still dreamed, even in this part of Hell wherever it was. He pressed the heels of his hands firmly against his closed eyelids, trying to stop the memory of the images from his dream. They wouldn't go.

He took a shaky breath and looked down at the bears that were looking angrily up at him. Sure, they looked pretty much the same as always, but Dean knew they were angry at his having escaped. If he went down there, he was sure that they would rip him apart. Unlooping the length of laundry rope that he'd used to climb up, Dean made sure that the rest was secure so he could climb back up later. He let the rope drop and started climbing down. Maybe if the bears were quick, he'd be in the black nothingness for a long while before he came back together again. In the nothingness, he wouldn't dream.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The irony that he was drawing symbols that were inherently unholy didn't escape Sam, but since he was already on his knees, he supposed now was as good a time as any. He could take a moment to do one last time what he was sure that very soon he would never be doing again. Sam put down the paint and closed his eyes, wondering if he even knew how to pray anymore. He recalled that not too long ago he had prayed often. Now he mostly remembered the last time he had prayed, and he supposed that until now, the desire to do so again had bleed away just like the life had drained out of Dean that night in New Harmony. It was gone for good soon after he'd buried Dean in the ground, his eyes shut hard against the tears and praying to God that Dean would somehow be alright even though his gut told him his brother wouldn't. If God had really cared, Dean wouldn't be in the ground in the first place. There had already been his Mom, Jess, Madison, and their Dad; Dean going to hell was just the last straw. Sam hadn't prayed since. Not so long ago really, yet somehow it felt like a lifetime.

It took Sam a long while to decide what he wanted to say. He couldn't ask for forgiveness. It was much too late for that. And there was no forgiving what he was about to do. He might have regrets, but not enough to change his mind, and if there was a choice between maybe saving Dean by doing this unholy thing or not saving Dean, there really wasn't much of a choice as far as Sam was concerned. He had promised. And even though Sam hadn't saved Dean from going to hell, he damn sure wasn't going to leave him there if there was even a chance that he could get him out. So he guessed there was only one thing he could say in a prayer and not be fooling himself. _I'm sorry._

"He's not going to forgive you, you know."

Sam should've been startled, but he wasn't. He was actually surprised it had taken Ruby this long to find him.

"I know." He answered without opening his eyes. "I'm not asking for forgiveness."

Ruby snorted. "Then what's the point."

Sam opened his eyes and glared at her. "Something you would never understand."

"Try me."

Sam huffed, knowing Ruby wouldn't give it up. She never let something drop. It was times like this when Sam was glad he was okay with talking things out. "Saying you're sorry doesn't always mean you expect to be forgiven. Some things just can't be forgiven. Sometimes you're just hoping that someone can at least understand why."

Ruby smirked. "Is that why all the evil, misunderstood villains take the time to explain to the hero why they simply must carry out their evil plans?" She looked him dead in the eye. "You do understand that you are the villain in this scenario, don't you?"

"And you think that makes you the hero?" Sam scoffed.

"I seem to be the only one speaking for the rest of humanity. Whom you intend to abandon with Lilith running amok amongst them."

"I have no choice…"

"Yes, you do," she interrupted. "Don't say you aren't choosing this. At least own up to that much."

Sam took in a breath and nodded. "You're right. I am choosing this, but it's a choice I'm willing to make."

Ruby shook her head. "Sam, it isn't just the people to consider. He wouldn't want you to do this. He'll never forgive you."

"I know that, Ruby! I just told you that I'm not asking for… or _expecting_ God's forgiveness!" He tried not to let the anger show, but he was tired of her needling. He suspected it was partly because he was afraid she might make him doubt, and Sam didn't want to doubt. He had to be sure in this or he'd never be able to go through with it.

A look of pity crossed Ruby's face. "That isn't who I meant, Sam."

Sam's expression fell as he figured out who Ruby had meant. Dean. Of course Dean wouldn't want him to do this; his dying wish had been that Sam wouldn't do this. His voice shook a little as he faced her. "You're right. Dean wouldn't want me to do this, but that's why I was never the good brother." He cleared his throat. "It doesn't matter anyway. He'd hate what I've already turned into. Using my powers, drinking demon blood. It's much too late _not_ to disappoint Dean. That bridge has been burned." He looked away. "And I should've told him that, because I knew. After The Trickster and Broward County, I knew I couldn't do what he wanted, but I couldn't tell him. Not when he was going to die for me."

"Sam…"

"Shut the hell up." He said it quietly, but his tone was deadly serious. "Humanity is just going to have to wait. I'm getting my brother's soul out of hell. Then I'll worry about what comes next. Now get out, so I can do this."

"I can't let…"

"Don't make me hurt you."

She sighed in irritation. "Sam, you have to listen…"

"Get. The Fuck. Out!"

She stayed firm, defiantly staring at him. "No."

Sam stood then, bringing his hand forward to give her the beginnings of his power. His lip curled into a sneer, and he could see the fear and betrayal in Ruby's eyes as he grabbed onto her essence and pulled. Sam supposed it should make him feel guilty. It didn't. He waited until she started to choke, the black smoke hitting her throat as she fought desperately not to let it happen. Then he let go and Ruby clutched her throat, her chest heaving with exertion.

"Sam, please, you're going to need my help," she pleaded, her voice raspy. "I promise I won't get in your way. I won't say anything else unless you want me to."

Sam stared at her, his eyes cold and his jaw set. He wanted Ruby to see no doubt that he meant what he would say next. "You do one thing to disturb me or piss me off, one thing to make this go wrong, and I will send you back to hell. You understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now sit down and shut up. I'll let you know when and _if_ I want your help. Don't move until then. One word if I didn't ask you and I will end you. I have delicate work to do, and this can't go wrong." Sam supposed he should have felt bad about that, but he didn't. And he supposed that was a good thing, because soon there was going to be a whole lot he likely wasn't going to be feeling guilty about anymore. He might as well get used to it now. Besides, Ruby was stubborn as hell, and good at wearing him down. If he hadn't made the point, she would likely have continued trying to change his mind. And that was something he couldn't afford to be distracted with right now.

With one last severe look in her direction, Sam kneeled down on the floor once more and continued painting his sigils. If Ruby noticed his at first unsteady hands and slight hesitation, she didn't breathe a word of it.

To be continued.

**AN:** I'm going to do my best to have another chapter up in the next couple of weeks, but I have family visiting and a vacation away for a week right after they leave, so I apologize in advance that there might be a delay.


	4. My Old World Is Gone For Dead

**Author's Note:** So sorry for the long delay. I have an extra long chapter to make up for it. Hopefully I'll be more timely in the future.

Not sure I'm entirely happy with this one, but I'm going with it. There's always an edit option if I need it.

**Chapter 4: My Old World is Gone for Dead **

He took a deep breath and concentrated on his work, slicing carefully into the flesh. He tried to be as efficient as possible and didn't look anywhere but where he was cutting and where the blood was dripping down into the ceramic vessel below. Gathering some of the still warm liquid in his hand, he drew with it carefully in the center of the painted symbols.

The bound demon beside him made pained noises, but it couldn't scream. As per Ruby's advice, the duct tape had remained firmly over the demon's mouth. There were many reasons for this, not the least of which was that Sam didn't want to hear it if the demon suddenly decided to let control slip and the host would be left to voice his suffering. That would shatter the last of Sam's illusions that at least this was just a demon. He knew better. He just couldn't afford to hear any evidence loud and clear.

The second demon was bound nearby, but Sam hoped that this first one would work: that the host was still living. He didn't want to have to do this again. He would, if it came to it. Much too late to change his mind on that, but the second demon would be more useful if it could still be alive when he was done. Then it could be a guinea pig.

He heard Ruby sniff, and he looked at her in irritation. "What?"

"More like a sacrificial lamb," she commented.

"Stay out of my head," he growled.

"Hard to do," she said. "You're not exactly thinking quietly."

"Kind of important to keep focused," Sam explained. "Now quiet. This is the important part." Having finished his painting with the demon blood and having mostly filled the large ceramic bowl with the rest, Sam added the necessary herbs and other ingredients to the blood-filled vessel. He stared at the blood for a moment, feeling the pull. He resisted it before. Resisting seemed pointless now. He closed his eyes before letting his hand gather some errant blood that was still flowing from the demon's cuts and brought it to his lips.

"Drink enough," Ruby advised softly. "You'll need to be as strong as possible if you want to survive down there."

Sam couldn't be angry at her for that, because she was right, so he drank a bit more before starting the incantation. At the appropriate time, he drew a blade across his left palm, letting the blood flow. Wrapping his bloody palm around the amulet, Sam set the liquid in the vessel ablaze and slammed his hand with the amulet into it. The fire turned blue and burned out with a small but loud explosion as Sam spat the last of the incantation through gritted teeth. In the aftermath, there was a momentary silence, a holding of breath. Then Sam screamed.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"It's probably gonna hurt too, huh?" Jesse asked. "Like the ritual to make the amulet work."

"Opening the portal to hell?" Seeing Jesse nod in answer, Jamie contemplated a moment. "I don't know. I think it should be maybe more loud and perhaps windy, and remember Sam will be part demon, so…"

"But didn't you say that Meg or some other demon said that hell was bad for demons too?"

"True," Jamie agreed. "But opening the portal itself doesn't have to be painful too. I think loud and windy will be good enough. Sam went through enough pain during the transformation, and likely hell isn't going to be much fun, despite his being able to kill other demons, so we'll give him a break on this one."

"And it's good to have some variety," Jesse added, nodding at his own insightfulness. "If everything just caused pain, that would get predictable and boring."

"Exactly," Jamie said, smiling. "You're just a natural at this. Big epic wind and noise it is. Should we go with thunder and lightning or wailing voices on the howling winds?" She exaggerated the last with a spooky voice as she mussed his hair, making the boy laugh.

"Neither," Jesse countered with a tossing of his chin. "I say a deafening roar as the gate opens then it tapers off to a creepy moan." He made a grand encompassing gesture with his arms in the air as he described it and then nodded for emphasis as he crossed his arms over his chest as if defying her to come up with something better.

Jamie giggled. "Brilliant." She started typing, taking it all down. This story might not be an epic masterpiece, but it sure was original. And definitely fun to write.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Despite the fact that Ruby could feel the build-up coming, Sam's scream still startled her. For a moment she stared, dumbfounded. That wasn't supposed to happen. The transition shouldn't hurt. Except for the surge of power, it was supposed to be so subtle a transition that Sam wouldn't even feel it happening; all the better for it to happen without him protesting it. The amulet's influence in the change shouldn't make that much difference, should it? So why was he screaming and falling to his hands and knees?

Sam lifted his head to look at her, his eyes bleeding to black as expected, but with some hints of yellow streaking through. He'd said the amulet would magnify the demon blood exponentially, and she supposed that some of Azazel's influence must be part of the deal. Closing his eyes again, Sam gritted his teeth, panting through a spasm that wracked his body. She went to his side, putting a hand on his arm in comfort, but the spasms continued for several long minutes. Finally he fell to his side.

She looked around as if trying to see some reason this should be happening, but everything looked in order. He'd done everything correctly. But he was still writhing on the floor. "Sam what's going on? This isn't supposed to be happening."

Sam just looked at her, his eyes reverting to normal before he let out another strangled yell despite trying to hold it back. He panted again as another spasm hit, this one causing him to curl up. "Maybe the power's too much," he grunted.

"No, Sam, you have to be okay. It's supposed to be fine. It wasn't supposed to hurt you."

He looked at her then, and she could see his face change as the pain slowly subsided. It was then that Ruby realized she may have made an error. Sam took a deep breath and sat up, his gaze still fixed on hers. "What do you mean it wasn't supposed to hurt me? How would you know that, Ruby?"

"Becoming a demon doesn't hurt," she said easily. "And being a demon doesn't hurt. It must be the amulet…"

"I can still feel it," Sam said. "Not pain, really. At least nothing I can't get used to. But that isn't what you meant."

"Sam…"

"You knew, because you meant for this to happen to me. But not now, not yet." He tilted his head a little, smiling coldly. "But that wasn't all that was supposed to happen to me, was it?"

"No, Sam, you don't understand…"

"Actually for the first time, I really do." He pointed lazily to his head. "I can hear your thoughts, Ruby. All of them."

Ruby wanted to look away, because the look Sam was giving her was terrifying, but his green-blue eyes bore into hers, stilling her. And even if she had found the strength to look away, when his hand moved up to touch her cheek, his skin still marred with blood, the action was enough to keep her pinned. Sam had been right. She really shouldn't have come here, but she'd forgotten that he might be able to see, and she certainly didn't think he'd be strong enough to see everything.

"I was hoping you'd be able to help me adjust."

"I can, Sam. All that doesn't matter now…"

Sam laughed, his hand falling away from her cheek. "Ruby, how can you possibly think I'd let you help me now? You were gong to sacrifice me to Lucifer."

"No, it wasn't like that. It would've been an honor, he would've…"

Sam ducked his head and moved his face close to hers, bringing a finger to her lips to silence her protests. Removing his finger, he softened his face and gave her a small smile, but the effect didn't reach his eyes. The expression chilled her. "You do realize that I'm going to kill you?" he said slowly.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose as fear washed over her borrowed body. Desperation followed. "No, Sam. You need me. I promise all that's over…" She shook her head. "Really. No more Lucifer. I'll help you. You'll need it. It isn't easy trying to adjust."

Sam's cold smile returned. "I'll manage."

When Sam raised his hand and moved it subtly, the pain was more than Ruby expected, but it didn't last long. In a second, she was gone.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

After hearing what Chuck had to say, at first the angel was quiet, as if pondering the option Chuck's summary of the story presented. Then he frowned. "You are right. That outcome is not at all preferable. Does the story also have a location for Dean Winchester?" Castiel asked.

"Um, yes," Chuck answered slowly. "It says he's in hell."

The angel's eyebrows lowered and he scowled. "Well, we know this story can't be correct then, because we know Dean isn't in hell."

"Well, ah… The version of hell they have in the story isn't anything like the one I glimpsed."

"I don't understand."

Chuck snorted. "Well, the hell they describe in the story? Mostly I'd call it… insane." He shook his head. "Fans are just weird. They remember the tiniest details and…"

"Chuck, what are you talking about?"

"Well early on, Dean made reference to this fabric softener bear from a commercial on television called Snuggles that he said he'd like to hunt. So in this story, Dean is in hell with a giant, cuddly teddy bear named Snuggles or maybe two of them…"

"I'm fairly certain there are no teddy bears in hell," Castiel stoically assured him.

"Which is why if this story were somehow true, there would have to be someplace separate in hell where Dean is, but we can't check that, because we don't know where it is."

"But we know where Sam is supposed to be."

"Or at least where he was," Chuck agreed. "And even if he's been there and gone already, at least you'd find signs. And if you can confirm that, then you'll have a better idea if this story has any relevance to what's happening."

"So where do I have to go?"

"Cold Oak, South Dakota." Chuck said as he printed out a copy of the fanfiction for reference. "But you can't just up and leave this time. You need this to help you." He waved the story.

"I need more than that," Castiel said. "I don't understand all of the references. You know the gospels better than I do, and likely all of the details are not included in the story you have." Castiel turned to look at him. "You must come with me."

"Me?"

"Yes."

"I really don't think I want to go to..."

"The world may depend on it."

"Look, Castiel, I'm not a hero or an angel, and if any of this is true, it sounds not only insane, but freakin' terrifying. I'm just a normal guy."

"No, Chuck, you are a prophet of the Lord. No harm can come to you, so there is no need to be a hero. You will be protected." Castiel paused a moment, before adding, "You must come with me." Despite the softness of his words, Castiel's expression left no room for argument.

Chuck sighed. "Unh, okay… then let me get the car ready. I don't know if it can make a trip that far, but…"

Castiel tilted his head slightly as if he thought to answer, but instead he just straightened and reached his hand forward to touch Chuck's shoulder.

Chuck looked around at the now open landscape full of wooden buildings and almost dropped his printed pages. "Or I guess we could do this… H-how did you… What did you do?" A little bit of unease or maybe it was nausea overcame him momentarily, so he took a deep breath. A surprisingly cool breath. Chuck suddenly wished he had a jacket.

"This is Cold Oak," Castiel explained. "Now we must search for Sam Winchester."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Okay," Sam started as he took the duct tape off the mouth of the demon he'd bled. "Here's how it's going to go." He pointed to the demon. "You can either leave the host, or I'll kill you. Your choice."

"I'll leave," the demon said and prepared himself for a hasty retreat.

"Wait, I'm not done. Okay, Ruby - the lying bitch - was right. I think I could use some help here, so after you leave," he pointed to the first demon. "And the body dies, the soul leaves, blah, blah. I want someone back in there for a while. Don't care if it's you or her." Sam pointed to the demon that still had the duct tape on her mouth.

The demon snorted. "If I stay here, then you haven't technically killed anyone yet. Why do you want this host dead?"

Sam looked at the demon like he was an idiot. "I've been there. Don't care if I'm pretty much a demon now. I remember what it was like, and you're not bringing a soul to hell with you, so you can get out or I'll kill you. If you get out, you can come back when the body's dead, okay?"

"What about her?"

"If you come back?" Sam shrugged. "I'll kill her. If you don't, she goes in."

The female demon started thrashing and complaining behind her gag.

"And how are you going make sure we don't both leave?"

Sam sighed. "Guess I can't, but if you both leave, and I ever find you again, I'll make you pay." He smiled coldly and touched the amulet that was once again around his neck. "Slowly."

The demon sighed. "Let her take the body. I'll go."

"Fine, get out." Sam watched as the black smoke poured from the body's mouth, slithering off to points unknown and likely to another unsuspecting host. It didn't matter. He watched as the host died, thinking he should feel badly and not sure whether or not he felt a loss that he didn't. Again it didn't matter. Not anymore. Now he had one goal, and as he took the tape off of the female demon's mouth and with only a look, convinced her to take the dead man as a host, Sam knew it was time to get started. "Okay first order of business." He stashed a few weapons as he talked, mostly knives. He knew better than to take salt or holy water, as he figured both might now work just as easily against him. "Where the hell is the gate in this place? I certainly didn't see one last time I was here."

"It's not well known," the newly hosted demon answered. "I'll take you." Then she looked at the body she now inhabited, cut and damaged, and frowned.

"It'll heal right?" Sam asked.

"Wait a minute," she said. Sam sighed, but watched passively as the demon touched the neck of her former host. "She's dead."

After going over to confirm the demon's words, Sam was glad that he'd chosen correctly. That host wouldn't have worked, and having to go through that ritual again would have wasted a lot of time. Speaking of which, the soul should be reaped by now. He cut the bindings from around the wrists and ankles. "Hurry up then."

The demon nodded and returned to her former host, letting the damaged body fall with a thud to the wooden floor. She sighed contentedly, seemingly happy to be in the more familiar skin. Rubbing her wrists, she looked over her body and then appreciatively patted her clothes into place. She smiled at him. "Ready, Sam?"

"More than ready. Just show me where…" He raised his eyebrows in question.

"Megan," she answered.

"Megan. Let's open the gate to hell."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Oh God," Chuck breathed.

Castiel surveyed the scene they'd found in the fifth building they searched and frowned. There was a lot of blood. He could smell it. He could also smell that it was demon blood. "Chuck," Castiel prodded.

"Oh God."

"Chuck. Please focus. We have to know for certain."

"Know what? I don't want to know…"

"We have to know if this matches the story. Check the pages."

"Oh yeah. The story." With shaky hands Chuck shuffled the pages until he came to the last chapter. He tried to keep his eyes focused on the words, but Castiel noticed that his attention kept shifting to the horrendous scene around him and to the door as if he expected that at any moment something terrifying would burst through. After a few tries, Chuck finally got to the description the angel wanted. The prophet's eyes rose to meet his. "Well except for… Ruby, this is pretty much how it's described," he said. "The ring of symbols with blood symbols painted in the middle. The vessel of blood." He pointed to the demon's body. "That must've been the sacrifice."

"Which means that Sam Winchester did the ritual."

"That's what it looks like," Chuck agreed.

"And can you tell me again exactly how he was supposed to gain power from the ritual?" Castiel asked.

"Uh, the amulet, Dean's amulet, was supposed to be activated and increase the power of the demon blood Sam had inside him exponentially. According to the story here, it's really powerful, so Sam would have a great deal of power, but as a result, he'd take on the characteristics of the thing that gave him the power."

"So he'd become a demon," Castiel said. He frowned. "But I don't think Dean's amulet is supposed to do that."

"Well, I never knew what it did, so it was never given any power in the stories. So the writers gave it that power."

"And now, potentially, that is what has happened." Castiel's frown increased. "It could be that Sam is already a demon." He looked at the body of what used to be Ruby. "And he's killed Ruby." He examined her body. "Without weapons apparently." His frown deepened. This was bad. "She wasn't supposed to die. She was supposed to have a part to play. We weren't even supposed to kill her"

"Yeah it looks like we're too late on both counts. Maybe we should…"

"What happens next?"

"What do you mean 'What happens next?'"

"In the story. You mentioned something about Sam wanting to open a gate to hell. We must stop it, so where exactly is this gate, and how is Sam going to do it?"

"Um, well see there's some bad news with that…"

"Chuck," Castiel prompted.

"This story is a WIP – a work in progress - and writers didn't post that part yet."

"I don't understand."

"It's called a cliffhanger. They left the last installment with Sam falling to the floor as he got his power and his eyes turned black. We know his motivation and what he wants to do, but we have no details yet. Only that the gate is somewhere here in Cold Oak. That's why he did the ritual here."

"So we have no idea what we're looking for?"

Chuck looked like he was a little chagrinned and perhaps a bit nervous about answering. "Um, no?"

"Then we'll just have to…" Castiel was cut off mid sentence, suddenly staggered by an awful feeling. A deafening roar seemed to encompass the building, shaking the walls, and an accompanying blast of air slammed the door against the front wall. Beside him, Chuck covered his ears and crouched as his papers blew around the room. Then he shouted in fear and confusion. Looking through the open door, Castiel saw odd, black clouds blotting out some of the light from the setting sun, creating a surreal haze of red and soot that made the sky look like it was on fire. Lightning, or something like it, shot through the clouds and an inhuman sound worse than the now subsiding roar assaulted the angel's ears. Sounds of electricity, like a lightening snap, crackled through the cacophony, punctuated by more flashes of light. This continued for several moments as Castiel fought his way through the gale to the open door.

"Don't leave me here!" Chuck yelled.

But he didn't have time to reassure the prophet. The wind was dying down so Castiel shifted himself near to the cause of the disturbance, having a good idea already what he would be seeing. The sound had died to a moan now as two figures, backlight by an eerie light, stood beside the open gate that was the source. One figure walked in. The other stayed behind and closed the door. Moving faster than sight, the angel grabbed the remaining figure and returned to the building.

Despite his previously pleading for Castiel to stay, Chuck didn't appear too happy to see him return. In fact the prophet was making noises of distress and seemed to be trying to make himself disappear into the wall at the far corner of the room. But maybe the snarling demon the angel held had something to do with that. Castiel feared that his was going to be a long evening.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Something was wrong. Dean often woke disorientated after being put back together, but this was the first time that the room felt like it was shaking. And this was also the first time in ages that he heard anything substantial besides that song, the sounds of the bears, or his own voice. He might've been happy for the change, but somehow the fact that the noise sounded like someone took a hellhound and crossed it with a T-rex and, deciding the sound such a thing would make wasn't loud enough, then gave it a bullhorn pretty much killed any enthusiasm he might have had.

Scrabbling through a pile of laundry, he ran for his laundry rope, trying to decide if he should climb or not. The bears huddled together, similarly unnerved by the now earthquake like shaking and loud sound. That was not good. If even the hell creatures were afraid… Dean opted to climb, tie himself in, and hope that he could ride it out. He had a feeling that whatever this was, it was neither usual nor desirable. And he also had a feeling that whatever this was, somehow it would find him.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sam stood just inside the gate, trying to get his bearings. He was surprised that except for a sound somewhat reminiscent of a moan and a persistent wind, things for the moment were relatively calm. That was odd, he knew, considering this was hell and all, but he was grateful, so he decided not to question it much. The last five minutes had left him strangely winded but at the same time feeling alive and buzzing with energy. He vaguely wondered if his eyes were still black from calling forth his power and zapping the demon clouds as they left the gate. He probably hadn't gotten them all, but he'd gotten most of them. And it had been exhilarating. Now he knew he could kill demons even when they were in that form, and he knew he would need that power. He also hoped that with practice he could do it more slowly, because he supposed he'd have to find a demon that would know where Dean was and make it talk. Looking out into what seemed an endless darkness punctuated by strange energy flashes, Sam nodded. Almost time to go.

One more thing to check. Lifting his left hand, he focused on the slice down the middle of his palm, seeing if he could get it to heal. The wound closed, though a reddish line remained. So he couldn't make it look like new, but he could mend a wound. Good to know. He expected very soon he would need that particular talent. Taking one last deep breath, one he was sure provided no oxygen and that he likely didn't need – and that was strange to contemplate – Sam took a long look at the gate from this side, trying to memorize its location, then he turned and headed out onto hell's landscape.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Castiel's plan didn't work. He'd hoped to question the demon who had obviously helped Sam open the gate, but he'd barely started with his inquiry when Chuck's archangel came down. The demon, obviously a smarter one of its kind, abandoned the host immediately upon figuring out what was coming. The threat to Chuck gone, the archangel didn't even bother to manifest himself entirely or even go after the demon. Typical.

Chuck, for his part, seemed more confused and worried than ever, and Castiel didn't seem to have the will to reassure him. Instead, he now paced aimlessly. This was all wrong. He didn't pace. He was patient and faithful and had a purpose. When he wasn't needed for anything, he waited patiently for his next assignment. When he was given a task, a duty, he saw it through, not wavering until he was done. But now he couldn't perform the task he'd been assigned to do because Dean Winchester was gone, no one knew where he was, and of course – and Castiel had gleaned this from the angel grapevine – it was somehow _his_ fault for losing Dean.

He wasn't supposed to feel, so they said, but the angel could swear that right now he was feeling… frustrated, defeated, and impatient. He didn't like any of those feelings. This had to stop. Haulting abruptly in his stride across the building, Castiel made up his mind. Fine. He'd already broken protocol by talking to Chuck and bringing him along, but so far they were always one step behind. More drastic action was needed. He supposed that old expression "in for a penny, in for a pound" applied here. "Chuck," he said, his voice surprisingly loud in the now quiet room. "We must stop being one step behind, one moment too late."

"H-how do we do that?"

"I think we have to go to the source of all of this. I think we have to find the authors of that story. Now. Before anything worse happens."

**To Be Continued**

**AN:** Well, it took our heroes long enough! You probably saw that course of action coming a good ways off, but Castiel had to get a little desperate to get there, and Chuck, well he's still a bit shell-shocked. Now as to whether the strategy is going to help… well, based on their previous luck, that one's up in the air. And Sam's not making it any easier with the damn everything to hell – literally – I'm getting my brother back attitude.


	5. Searching on a OneWay Street

**Author's Notes:** Well, I'm back. Sorry for the delay. I hope to be more prompt in the future, but my muse is a little on the slow side, even though I know where this is ultimately going. And a thank you to Yarg for the nice review. I like Jesse too.

Warning: A plot bunny visited me in the wee hours of the morning one night. It was actually more like a scene bunny than a plot bunny, but it was relentless nonetheless. I'm going to blame it for the cracktastic scene included in this chapter. I apologize in advance.

**Chapter 5: Searching on a one way street  
**

Nothing. A whole lot of nothing. Dean was confused to say the least. All of the shaking and all of the noise had been a whole lot of sound and fury signifying nothing. He wasn't sure where that half-remembered quote came from, but it was definitely appropriate now. The Snuggle bears were sleeping, which was more than odd, and Dean was suspicious. Soon that suspicion ratcheted up to ten.

Dean didn't see it at first, though even from his perch on the wall near the sconce, he knew something was different. The smell was actually what he noticed first, and when he did notice it, he originally thought he had been dreaming. Closing his eyes again, he took a deep breath. It was still there. Even after all this time, all his tortures, and aromas so foul they defied description, Dean would never forget the unmistakable, heavenly smell of freshly baked apple pie. Finally he dared to open his eyes again, and he saw it. There, on a table that hadn't been there before, sat what appeared to be a plate with a huge piece of perfectly baked apple pie. And though Dean couldn't tell where it originated from, a small but prominent light shown down on the pastry. In the golden beam he could swear that he saw steam rising from the pie. There was even a scoop of vanilla ice cream sitting beside it. Every fiber of Dean's being told him this was a trap. There was no way it wasn't. In that moment however, Dean also knew he didn't care.

His mouth was already watering even in the short time it took him to climb down his rope and reach the piece of pie. He didn't take his eyes off the tasty treat as he pulled out the chair and sat down, afraid that the pie would evaporate from view. It didn't. He prodded it lightly to make sure it was solid. It was. A small noise of anticipation caught in his throat, but despite his hunger, he sat a moment and breathed in the sweet scent and admired the sight. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd seen something so beautiful. Carefully he picked up the fork and scooped a small amount of ice cream and added a piece of the pie, making sure to get both some perfectly browned crust and some juicy apple filling. Taking a bite, he let them sit together on his tongue for a moment, moaning at the sensation as he then slowly chewed and swallowed. It was the best friggin' piece of pie he'd ever tasted.

The next few bites he ate hungrily, but he took a deep breath and went slowly again after he'd eaten a third of the piece. Dean wanted to make this last. And he did, drawing it out as long as possible. Each bite seemed better than the last, and he vaguely wondered if he was going insane but just hadn't realized it. If so, bring on the crazy, because this was freakin' awesome.

Maybe it was because the experience was so intense, that Dean would later blame his overwhelmed senses for what happened next. Maybe it was because he was focusing on that last big bite and wondering if he should just leave it there for a while that he didn't realize that the apple pie smell was getting stronger rather than weaker. It might also have been why he didn't hear a subtle squishing sound. The hissing sound, however, like the sound of steam escaping; that was too loud and too close to miss. Of course by then it was too late. Dean sensed it too. He didn't want to look behind him, but he had to. He just couldn't let himself not face whatever was coming. As Dean rose from his chair and turned to see a giant piece of apple pie behind him, he strangely wondered why he'd never had a nightmare like this before. With all the pie he'd eaten, he guessed it was only fair that the pie have its revenge. And as his eyes assessed how far he had to run around the giant pie to get to his laundry rope, he vaguely let himself hope that he had a chance. Mommy pie couldn't be that fast. He could feint one way, then run the other. Dean bolted.

Things didn't quite go as Dean planned, however. The pie uncharacteristically not only didn't fall for his feint, but it was actually fast, and as Dean felt his body engulfed by the too hot, too sticky, too suffocating apple filling, he struggled mightily to escape. He punched and fought, even breaking through the top crust momentarily before, of all things, a huge scoop of vanilla ice cream landed on his head with incredible force, dazing him momentarily and sealing his fate. He regained consciousness only to find himself suffocating in the burning filling, and just before he lost consciousness for the final time, he incongruously mused that he would never be able to look at a piece of pie the same way again.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Jamie held her sides as she laughed. "Stop, stop," she pleaded. They'd been in a silly mood all afternoon, and the fit of giggles now was making her sides hurt.

"But wait," Jesse said. "I haven't gotten to the best part yet." He waved his hand vaguely towards the ceiling. "See, just as Dean is about to break away, just as he smashes his way through the top crust, a giant scoop of ice cream falls on his head, stunning him." Jesse brought his fist down lightly on his own head to illustrate his point.

"Oh my God." Jamie laughed harder.

"So the giant piece of pie sloooowly creeps forward annnd… swallows him up in one big chomp!" he finished with a rush.

Jaime took a few breaths, trying to calm herself. "Th–that's just so wrong. Dean would be scarred for life."

"But he's in hell, so that's the idea. Dean's beloved pie eating _him_ all up."

Jamie grinned. "We couldn't. We can't put that in. It's just insane." Jesse pouted, frowning adorably and doing his best interpretation of a Sam Winchester puppy dog look. Then he added his own special dose of please-be-swayed-by-my-adorableness, and Jamie melted. "Oh, what the hell? We've already got Snuggle bears. Why not giant pie, too?"

"Yay!" Jesse said, grinning hugely. "Okay what's next?"

ooooooooooooooooooo

Chuck wasn't sure he wanted to do this, but Castiel was insisting. It appeared that he wasn't going to be able to get rid of the angel any time soon except by continuing to do as he asked and hope he was eventually satisfied and left. Sneaking out wasn't an option since the angel didn't need to sleep or use the restroom. Besides Chuck had the creepy feeling that even if by some miracle he happened to escape, the angel would just be able to find him. That was how he ended up here in front of his computer, trying to compose an e-mail. He just knew he was going to regret this.

"Are you sure…"

"Yes." The angel answered without even waiting for him to finish his question. "Tell the author we need to see him or her."

"I can't just say that."

"Why not?"

Chuck looked at the angel with some exasperation. "Because even though my fans might be a little unusual, they aren't generally crazy. They aren't going to meet some strange person who sends them an e-mail. It could be some pervert or something sending them an e-mail for… not nice reasons," he finished lamely, not sure he wanted to get into that kind of subject matter with the seemingly clueless angel.

"But you're a pr…"

"Don't say it," Chuck insisted. "Just don't. I'll think of something, but don't get your hopes up too high, okay." He took a deep breath followed by a stiff drink. Okay, time to use his writer skills, because this better be a convincing e-mail.

He was so screwed.

ooooooooooooooooooo

Sam hadn't seen much so far to help him in his quest to find Dean. In fact, at this point, he wasn't convinced that most of the demons weren't actually topside, because he'd seen exactly three so far and had accidentally killed them too fast to even get a question out. He suddenly regretted letting Megan remain on earth. He should've dragged her with him to get directions. Damn.

What he had seen so far when it wasn't a lot of darkness was doomed souls in various disturbing states of torture and anguish. If he had been completely human, Sam was sure he wouldn't be able to function, because he'd have been curled into a little ball. As it was, despite being at least somewhat demonic - and he suspected he was more than a little at this point - he was still disturbed. He'd found himself more than once stopping and being so affected that he'd asked the souls if they wanted out of their misery before reaching out and destroying them. Unfortunately that was both distracting him and slowing him down. He almost wished he was all demon. Meg had said that demons still loved and had loyalty, so he suspected that he'd still want to save Dean even if he was entirely demon, but then he wouldn't be distracted by these sights. No time to regret it now though. Dean was here somewhere, suffering like this, and he'd have to stuff whatever part of him was human down and hurry this up.

No sooner had he decided that then the darkness was disturbed by a terrified wailing coming from something running in his direction. That running soul was brought up short when it was knocked down by a vicious, snarling beast. Sam instinctively knew it had to be a hellhound, and if this is what had torn Dean apart, Dean must have been terrified. It huge, muscled jaw and sharp claws looked as if they would inflict maximum and messy damage. Sam watched as the thing pounced on the soul and starting ripping it apart. The crunching and tearing and screaming were horrifying and all too familiar and so much for his resolve. Without thinking, he raised his hand and snuffed out the soul. That was getting easier. The soul must've been at least partially demonic at that point, though he hadn't found one yet that he hadn't been able to kill, and that thought also disturbed him. Despite now being part demon himself, Sam didn't want Dean to be one.

The hellhound growled, bringing Sam out of his musing. It apparently didn't appreciate having lost its quarry, and it now turned its vicious, terrifying gaze on him. Sam raised his hand again. Nothing happened. He tried summoning more power, but the hellhound didn't so much as whimper. Sam had a moment to think _damn_ before the beast was on him, its teeth tearing into his shoulder. Yelling, his instincts kicked in and he fought, finding that in addition to his demon-killing powers, he was also inhumanly strong. Good to know. He threw the hellhound off, and as he braced himself for another attack, he drew a knife from his thigh sheath. The hellhound pounced again. Teeth dug deeply into the left arm he raised in defense, ripping flesh to the bone, and claws raked his thigh, but he managed to get his right arm under the beast and thrust the knife upwards into the hound's heart. The hound jerked, but Sam shoved harder and twisted the blade violently. That the blade was silver likely helped, but Sam was still surprised that the thing actually died. He shoved it off and sat a moment, breathing violently on instinct, he supposed, as he was pretty sure his body no longer needed the oxygen that wasn't likely present anyway. He actually wished he could stop the instinctual breathing at this point, because the beast smelled horrible: rancid and foul. Sam supposed the smell might help to alert him if other hellhounds were around though, so he'd keep that in mind.

Pain was also making itself known though. Sam concentrated and healed himself, then wiped the blade off on his clothes before sheathing it again. No more distractions. He was going to find a demon and make it help him find Dean. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath – and he really should stop doing that, because ugh – turned himself in a random direction he hoped was going to be the right one, and opened his eyes to continue his journey. If he didn't find something soon, he decided, he was going to start making noise. God help everyone if it came to that, because he was sure that wouldn't end well for anyone.

ooooooooooooooooooo

Jamie's heart suddenly picked up its pace as she had a mini panic attack. What was she doing here? This had been a bad, bad idea. It couldn't possibly be real. Why would Carver Edlund be impressed with her story and want to meet her? If she'd thought about it logically, it made no sense. Of course she _had_ been suspicious at first when she'd gotten the first e-mail, but then she'd let her imagination get the better of her, thinking _what if_ and that she couldn't not take the chance. So she'd chatted online with him and then agreed to meet with him. Of course she'd taken some precautions, telling herself that doing so made her not entirely crazy. That's why she'd chosen the most popular diner in Alliance for their meeting and was now sitting with a clear view of the doorway, watching for his arrival. He'd said that he'd be wearing a purple shirt, but she'd check out any guys arriving and looking like they were searching for someone. She was not wearing the lilac shirt she said that she'd be wearing, choosing a dusty rose shirt instead. That way, she could pretend to not be there and slip out if things looked suspicious.

Now, however, despite the good number of people in the diner, she was not so sure of her plan. This was nuts. No one close to her knew she was here – as if she could've told anyone about this without them thinking she was insane – not even Jesse, and she wasn't due to sit for him this weekend. His parents wouldn't know she was missing until Monday morning. And, now that she considered it, maybe a guy wouldn't even know the difference between lilac and dusty rose and therefore pick her out immediately. Oh crap. Okay, there was still a minute or so. She could just put a couple dollars down for the ice tea and slip out. Throwing the bills on the table, she stood hunched over a bit and started edging herself out of the booth.

A slight rustling of air whispered nearby and suddenly two people were standing beside her, blocking her exit. She started visibly, positive that these people did not walk to her table but rather had just appeared there. The lights above the booth flickered a little and when she noticed that, she sat back down heavily on the booth bench and slid against the wall, drawing her knees up and putting her feet in front of her on the bench. A quick look around the diner told her that everyone else had been frozen in place. "What the…" she gasped, breathing heavily.

Looking at the motionless patrons and the men in front of her, Jamie momentarily froze too, though in her case it was out of fear, as one of the men cleared his throat and asked "Winchester Alliance? Um, Jamie?"

She didn't answer. Instead she grabbed the salt shaker from its place against the wall, wrenched the top off, and flung the contents at the men as hard as she could. The one who had spoken flinched, but the one in the trench coat just frowned in confusion at the few salt crystals still clinging to him, then tilted his head questioningly at his companion.

"She thinks we're demons," he explained, and then as he looked around the diner, he added "I told you we shouldn't have just teleported in here or whatever it is that you do… and what the hell did you do to everybody?"

"I stopped them momentarily. Would you rather I got rid of them?"

"No!" He shot the man a mollifying look before putting his hands up in a placating gesture as he now turned to Jamie. "Look we're not demons and we're not here to hurt you. My companion here just has difficulties with social interaction."

_Demons are real?_ Jamie thought to herself, her eyes going wide. _Oh this is bad._ "You can't possess me!" she blurted. "I have a tattoo."

"Look, I told you, we're not… You have a tattoo? What? Like Sam and Dean?"

"There was an illustration," Jamie said quietly. "In Jus In Bello."

He nodded as he slid slowly and carefully into the bench opposite her. "I guess there was." He extended his hand. "I'm Chuck… I mean Carver Edlund." He sighed. "Chuck is my real name. That's Castiel."

Jamie looked at his hand, still unsure, but she carefully extended her hand so that it barely touched his and she could pull it back if needed. She yanked it away after just a perfunctory handshake, her hand still shaking slightly.

"Look I know this is a bit disconcerting…"

"You almost made me pee my pants," Jamie accused.

"I'm sorry about that. Castiel isn't very patient."

"What are you? And how did you…" she gestured vaguely around the diner at the motionless people. "And you said you weren't demons. Does that mean demons are real?"

Chuck closed his eyes a moment. "Yes demons are real, but I'm just human. I don't do anything."

"You write the gospels," Castiel corrected.

"Stop saying that!" Chuck told him. He slid over on the bench. "Sit down. You're scaring her."

Castiel looked at Jamie. "If I sit down, you will not leave?" It came out more as a statement than a question.

"I will leave if you don't tell me what you are," she said a lot more confidently than she felt.

"I am an angel of the Lord," Castiel answered as if that were the most normal thing in the world. Chuck bonked his forehead on the table top with a small thud. The noise of frustration accompanying the action was mostly an afterthought.

"You're crazy. There's no such thing." Jamie countered.

"Apparently there are," Chuck said, raising his head. "Surprised me too. Until a couple of days ago, I thought my stories were fiction."

Jamie frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Chuck sighed. "Look, I know this is all a shock, but the stories are real, and somehow I see them…"

"Like visions? Like Sam in the books."

"Sort of like that, yes. Except they're not specific to the demon. They're centered on Sam and Dean."

"You're saying that Sam and Dean are…"

"Real, yes. Apparently according to Castiel, they are real."

"Not according to me," Castiel corrected. "They are real." He turned his intense gaze to her as he slid stiffly into the booth beside Chuck. "And we need to know what you did to them."

Jamie's mouth dropped open "What I did to… What is he talking about?" She directed the last at Chuck as he seemed to be the saner of the two. Perhaps not by much, but at this point she'd take it.

Chuck shot Castiel a warning look before addressing her again. "We don't know that you're doing anything. It's just that…"

"We don't have time for this," Castiel interrupted. "I will show you what you've done." Before either of them could object, Castiel reached out a hand to touch both of them with his fingers and their world shifted.

Jamie almost fell over as she landed. Chuck barely kept her from pitching forward.. "What?" she breathed, not finding the words.

"You keep doing that!" Chuck complained to Castiel as he helped Jamie right herself.

Jamie looked around in confusion. "How did we get… Where are we?"

"You don't recognize it?" Castiel asked sternly.

"No," Jamie said uncertainly. She had a creeping suspicion that she should recognize it. "I-I'm still stuck on how we got here."

Chuck shook his head. "Some angel thing. I keep telling him that it's disconcerting, but…" he shrugged.

"This is Cold Oak," Castiel informed her.

"Cold Oak? Like in the stories?" She looked around at the wooden buildings, her eyes taking in the bell that defined the place. The one that Dean had seen in the vision Andy sent him. The one that had been illustrated in the novel. "Oh, my…"

Castiel motioned for them to follow him, and still gazing around, Jamie did, not really knowing where she was going and overwhelmed by what she was seeing. Before now, this had been a place she'd only imagined, a place she'd thought was only fictional, now she was here, apparently transported here by an angel. She stopped short though as she realized where the supposed angel had taken them.

"See," he said, pointing to a painted symbol on the floor of the building. It appeared to have symbols painted in blood inside it along with a large vessel filled with what could only be blood. There was also a dead body… make that two dead bodies. One had gashes with dried blood. The other looked odd. "Oh my God," she breathed, shaking her head.

"Does this look familiar?" Castiel the angel asked her.

"I've never been here…" And that was true, but somehow the scene seemed vaguely familiar.

"It's the ritual Sam Winchester used to gain his power and turn himself into a demon," Castiel stated flatly. "Just as you wrote that he did."

Jamie shook her head. "That's not possible. I made that up." She was looking around in confusion and distress. "The books. There weren't anymore, and Dean was still in hell, and Jesse wanted more of the story. We had to get Dean out somehow, so we wrote…" She looked at Chuck. "There really is a Sam?'

Chuck nodded solemnly. "Where?" she asked, but she had the awful feeling she knew what they were going to say.

"He opened the gate to hell," Castiel answered anyway. "Which was here in Cold Oak. Somehow. Even though there wasn't supposed to be a gate to hell here as far as we knew. Until you wrote that there was one that is."

"That makes no sense," Jamie told them, pleading her case. "How could I possibly have done anything like this? I'm just a college student." She sensed that it was important somehow that they know this, because the one who called himself an angel appeared to be becoming more impatient.

"You do appear to be human," Castiel agreed. "Are you a witch?"

"No!" she answered quickly and emphatically: perhaps too quickly and emphatically, because Castiel lowered his brows and glowered at her. Despite his somewhat rumpled appearance, somehow the effect was intimidating. Scary intimidating. "I-I'm not. I promise."

"Castiel, I don't think…" Chuck began.

"Bring him back. Bring back Dean Winchester. Now."

"H-how am I supposed to do that? I d-don't…"

"Say it!" Castiel commanded.

Jamie shivered a little. "I…" Castiel grabbed her arm, and it hurt. She made a sound of protest, but the angel wouldn't let go.

"Say it now, or I will have to more deeply search your mind. That will not be pleasant."

"Oh, don't do that. Okay, okay… I… Bring Dean Winchester here now! B-bring him out of hell to this place!"

There was a tense pause as Castiel released her arm and Jamie sighed in relief when the blood started flowing back into the extremity. She rubbed her arm a little and stepped back, because despite Castiel's and even Chuck's expectant looks, Jamie knew nothing was going to happen here. These people or whatever they weres were stark raving mad. That was the only explanation

And of course, as Jamie expected, there was no loud clap of thunder or heralding of doom. No Dean Winchester arrived in the run down building. Nothing but the quiet buzzing of a few flies that had come to check out the deceased bodies occupying the building with them.

"Hmmph," Castiel said after a moment. "This is not good."

ooooooooooo

The most difficult part for Sam was avoiding the hellhounds. The other demons figured out after a while that he couldn't kill the beasts with his mind, so every once in a while one would get brave and send a hellhound in his direction. Generally a demon that got close enough to send a hellhound paid dearly for doing so. Fortunately for Sam, that news traveled quickly once he strategically let one or two demons barely escape. Unfortunately for Sam, that also meant fewer demons for him to interrogate. Still every once in a while one would try to challenge him, thinking Sam couldn't possibly be that powerful. He was, and he was slowly learning to control it. He had a few difficulties along the way, and his body had taken a beating more times than he cared to count, but he'd finally gotten the information he'd needed. Now he was on his way to locate a demon named Alastair.

From what he'd heard of the demon, he was probably going to have to use a different strategy. Brute force might not work on him. Alastair liked to talk, to torment with words as he tortured. It was one strategy Sam didn't like contemplating, but if when he found Alastair, Dean wasn't there, he would do it for a while. He couldn't kill Alastair without getting Dean's location first, and Alastair would know Sam couldn't. But he might let something slip while tormenting. As long as he didn't get too damaged, Sam could fix himself. It would also mean he would have to make sure that Alastair knew who he was and hope that his reputation didn't precede him too much. If Alastair found some way to counteract his powers, it would all be for nothing, and Sam couldn't let that happen.

Sam curled his hand over the amulet, grasping it in his fist to ground himself before putting it inside his battered T-shirt. From what he'd found in his research, the power spell seemed to be permanent, so he hadn't needed to bring the amulet to redo the ritual. In fact, he likely should've left it topside somewhere safe so that no harm would come to it, but Sam hadn't even considered leaving it behind. He needed it as a reminder: something to focus on when he wavered. Something to connect him to Dean. He only wished that connection had made Dean easier to find.

Alright. Enough stalling. Sam knew where he had to go and what he had to do. He didn't relish facing Alastair though, because despite his confidence in his newly acquired powers, Sam wasn't stupid. It wasn't that he thought he'd lose. He was pretty sure that Alastair was toast. It was more that. This demon had Dean, and Dean was Sam's brother. More, Dean was Sam's only family. Period. And what Alastair was doing to _his _Dean; even the thought made Sam furious to the point that the rage he would feel when he actually saw him... Sam couldn't let that happen. He had to be careful, calculating, cool-headed, and he was sure this would be one of the toughest things he would have to face. That and the likely torture. There could be no screwing up. With one last pat to his amulet, Sam straightened himself, tried to calm the rage and hatred screaming in his head and headed for Alastair's domain.

ooooooooooo

Dean woke with a start, struggling against an imagined foe. That the foe had been all too real not too long ago was beside the point. The fact that the foe had been a giant piece of pie was just weird. There was no sign of the piece of pie now, though surprisingly the table was still there as was the illuminated plate. And the last good sized bite of pie. Dean considered the options. As memory scarring as getting eaten by a giant piece of pie was, the piece of pie he'd eaten just before that had tasted so good. Dean scanned the room. The Snuggle bears were surprisingly still asleep, but they could wake at any time, so he really should get back up his rope.

He closed his eyes a moment as the memory of thick, sticky filling and suffocating, burning heat assaulted him, but he shook his head and banished it momentarily. Glancing at the rope and the safety it provided for only a moment, Dean instead snorted and hurried over to the bite of pie. Screw it if mama pie returned and ate him up again. It would be so worth it.

To Be Continued

**AN:** Coming up - There's gonna be a showdown: Sam confronts Alastair and Castiel confronts Jesse. At least one of these encounters doesn't go as expected.


End file.
